Patchwork
by ArtisticRainey
Summary: Chapter 2 updated. A series of drabbles inspired by the following fic prompt challenge. Will be posted in sets of 5 as I complete them and will be a mixture: some TOS, some TAG and some based on my other fics. Some can be read as from any world. Will signpost as appropriate.
1. Chapter 1

**1\. Dance**

When he danced, Alan was all arms and elbows. He threw himself around the dance floor with the grace of a three year old with untied shoelaces.

Scott shook his head as he watched his younger brother spin around and grab the hand of a pink-cheeked classmate. Her ponytail bounced and her grin grew wide as Alan pulled her close and then twirled her away. There was no rhythm to what he was doing but what was impressive was the _passion_ with which he did it.

Scott sipped his soda. Chaperoning a school dance had never been quite so entertaining.

 **2\. Treat**

"Daddy, please may we go to the park to play?"

Four year old Gordon stood with his hands clasped behind his back and the toes of his bright red sneakers pointing inwards. His amber eyes were impossibly round.

How could any father refuse such an adorable request?

"Sure thing, son. Go and round up your brothers."

Gordon's high pitched whoop of joy was almost as adorable as the skidding of his feet on the wood floor as he disappeared. Jeff shuffled the papers on his desk and stood. Work could wait. Spending time with his sons was always a treat.

 **3\. Sand** \- _Based on TOS episode 'Desperate Intruder'_

Sand... Everywhere there was sand. Brains passed his tongue over his arid lips and closed his eyes. How would he ever get out of this alive?

Treasure hunting was the job of adventurers, daredevils. It was something Gordon and Alan would do, not solid old Brains. Yet here he was, on the shores of Lake Anasta, buried up to his neck with no hope of rescue. He had called and called for Tin-Tin. No answer. Even in his haze of pain and terror, his stomach churned at the thought that she was in mortal danger.

Sand... Everywhere there was sand.

 **4\. Salt**

"Three, two, one!"

He licked the salt, knocked back the clear liquid and sucked the lime wedge as if it were manna.

"Oh God," John said, his eyes watering and his stomach lurching. "Why do I let you do this to me?"

"Ah, relax, will ya?" Gordon said, slapping his brother on the back. "We're celebrating. This is our last big blast before we ship out."

John took a sip of his beer to chase the taste of tequila from his mouth. He looked from one brother to another. Tomorrow their lives would change forever. Tomorrow they became International Rescue.

 **5\. Clip** \- _Based on my fanfic 'This is a Photograph of Me'_

Dad always liked me to have long hair. So did Mom. She loved to style it, wind it round her fingers, tie it in intricate knots and braids and tie it up with elaborate pins and clips. I never did get the chance to tell her I despised all of that.

Life is truly precious, but life in the wrong body is torture. How many nights did I lie awake, my insides churning and my thoughts whirling? How could I tell them that my body was changing in all the wrong ways?

I am a boy. I am John Tracy.


	2. Chapter 2

**6\. Bread**

 _Milk, juice, chips, bread. Milk, juice, chips, bread_. Scott repeated his shopping list mantra over and over as he pedalled towards the store. Once he built up enough speed, the dynamo on the rear wheel took over and he was gliding.

In his mind, he was gliding too. He was high up above the sweeping Kansas farmland, twisting and diving through cloud, his silver aeroplane glinting in the sunlight. He hopped off his bike and obediently did his errands but his mind was really in the skies.

He was half a mile away when he realised he'd forgotten the bread.

 **7\. Fish**

It was now or never. Gordon stood on the starting block, poised, ready.

Yet he wasn't.

He glanced up at the mosaic crowd. His brothers and father and grandmother were there.

He inhaled the chlorine. The felt the cheers, the lapping of the pool, the _pressure_. He was only seventeen. Could he do this? Could he bring gold back for the USA?

 _That_ _'_ _s my boy, my little fish_. His mother's words echoed in his mind and as he flew through the water, he knew she was right beside him. When he received his medal, she was right beside him too.

 **8\. Race**

In the moment, there was nothing else but the race. He had speed. He trusted in his own ability. He had one of the best cars in the world.

But most importantly, he knew that his family were out there, waiting for him to cross the finish line. His father would have thrilled eyes but tight lips, fearful but proud. His brothers would be eating Red Dye No. 3 hot dogs and cheering from the stands. His grandmother would be the loudest cheer of all.

"You can do it, kid!"

He _could_ do it. And time and again, he did.

 **9\. Poor**

I don't remember much about my early days. It's a blur of sagging high-rise apartment blocks and shacks on stilts and open sewers and the fear that one day the monsoon would take everything away.

Inevitably, it did.

In one torrent I lost Bapa and Ibu, Datuk and Nenek. All I was left with was my bapa saudara – an uncle that I barely knew, who had flown in from London.

"Come along, Tanusha. I'm taking you away from all this."

He grabbed my hand; it wasn't like Bapa's touch. My uncle's grip was cold.

But I didn't have a choice.

 _*Bapa: father_

 _*Ibu: mother_

 _*Datuk: grandfather_

 _*Nenek: grandmother_

 _*Bapa saudara: uncle_

 **10\. Rich**

I am a rich man. There is no denying that.

My life is full of treasure, and some of that treasure takes pride-of-place on my desk.

Scott's gleaming pilot's wings. A signed edition of John's first book. Virgil's award-winning self-portrait. A photograph of Gordon at the top of the Olympic podium, clutching gold. Alan at the top of another podium, a runaway winner of his first grand prix. And not least of all, a photograph of all six of my children, my adopted daughter Tanusha in the middle, grinning.

I am a _very_ rich man. There is no denying that.


End file.
